


In Transit

by TheSunsOnHiatus



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alluka and Nanika being cute sweet baby angels i love them sm, Angst, Depressed killua, Dry Humping, Gay Panic, Gon doesn't say anything in this but he still says alot yknow, Its 5 am and i cant think of any more tags so we'll just leave it at that, Killugon - Freeform, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Top!Killua, anxious Killua, as always, bottom!Gon, he alright tho, is this the real life, it's terrible tbh but i'm tired of looking at it, killua-centric, or is it fantasy, pillow humping, sad killua, second story is finally finished lets gooooo, so over writing this, spoiler alert: it's fantasy, story-based writing practice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:55:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29286393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSunsOnHiatus/pseuds/TheSunsOnHiatus
Summary: Regardless of how unexpected or unwanted, he’d greet the driver of the situation at hand with the same neutral expression, taking his seat as he welcomed the incoming inferno. As he welcomed the inevitable.He was taught that even the worst-case scenarios were simply…. unfavorable, in the end. And any situations that wielded the most devasting results were either due to circumstances out of his control or he was just too weak to avoid them. Therefore, he deserved whatever he got.
Relationships: Alluka Zoldyck & Killua Zoldyck, Gon Freecs & Killua Zoldyck, Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck, Nanika & Alluka Zoldyck, Nanika & Killua Zoldyck
Comments: 3
Kudos: 43





	In Transit

**Author's Note:**

> hello hello killugon friends,  
> first i'd like to say a huge thank you to everyone who read, commented, or gave kudos to my first work.  
> the love was much appreciated <3  
> i promised i would finish this story and here it is, signed, sealed, and delivered.
> 
> honestly, i absolutely hate it.  
> this is really long (unnecessarily ambitious) and sloppy but i tried something new and played around with the story  
> i started writing this way before the other story and yet, it's still finished three months later lol.  
> but i was so tired of looking at it and i knew if i didn't just finish it, i would never get around to it.  
> so, here we are.
> 
> whereas the other story was just quick smut writing practice, this one is more focused on dialogue, story progression, and working on adding humor that doesn't sound corny lol. 
> 
> tl;dr: writing practice, less smutty  
> i hope you all enjoy, and thank you so much for the support.

Killua had never considered himself to be the “needy” type. He didn’t _need_ a lot of things.

From a young age, he had been trained to repress even the deepest of man’s desires. The need for food, the need for sleep, the need for comforts, the need for basic human decency—

All of it had been buried away and locked inside of multi-colored bruises and bleeding lacerations.

From birth, he’d barely been considered human. Far too strong, too fast, too _unbelievable_ for a child his age. Human children were supposed to be fragile, delicate, and infantile.

Killua had been none of those things. He was a machine, born to carry on the Zoldyck name in stride and eventually lead the family. No matter how much suffering he had to endure to become what his family wanted.

After going through hell and back for most of his life, long before his adventures with Gon, Killua knew there wasn’t much that could shake him.

In his mind, getting into another bad situation was like getting on another bus trip back to an all-too-familiar purgatory, his own personal hell. When things spiraled out of control and the creeping feeling of dread began to climb over his shoulder and tickle his veins, he knew that was the one-way ticket his soul unknowingly purchased for the ride.

It didn’t matter.

Regardless of how unexpected or unwanted, he’d greet the driver of the situation at hand with the same neutral expression, taking his seat as he welcomed the incoming inferno. As he welcomed the inevitable.

He was taught that even the worst-case scenarios were simply…. unfavorable, in the end. And any situations that wielded the most devasting results were either due to circumstances out of his control or he was just too weak to avoid them. Therefore, he deserved whatever he got.

His family’s teachings drilled into his head that there would always be consequences (sometimes deadly if you were either stupid or unlucky) for being weak.

Grass was green, water was wet, and hell was hot. You either climbed your way out or danced with the devil.

Mind over matter. Fight or flight. Kill or be killed.

That was all he’d ever known.

Alongside his physical prowess and skills in combat, Killua had always prided himself on his ability to rationalize and use logic. Overthinking was a common downside, but it better to be completely sure than to make a fatal mistake. At least, that’s how he’d been raised.

Unfortunately for him, however, it appeared his upbringing had once again done nothing but hinder his mental progress, as he was sure his current situation couldn’t be solved through such black-and-white methods of thinking.

And thinking, lately, was all he seemed to do.

All his thoughts; jumbled, scrambled, annoying, inappropriate, _incessant_ — fought for room in his brain and scattered his sense of logic.

Presently, his forehead tingled where Illumi’s needle was ripped out so, so long ago. The phantom feel of it almost enough to make him grimace.

Killua supposed he should be grateful.

Grateful because luckily for him, he had met Gon and their friends, and along their journey together Killua had been opened to many ways of thinking. Some that didn’t really require any _thinking_ at all. Some that relied on hunches, or hope, or optimism.

_Optimism?_

Optimism.

Sure, hell was hot. _But_ , so was electricity, right? And he _controlled_ electricity. Manipulated it, perfected it, and bent it to his will. He turned one of his most painful memories into a powerful reality.

Pain into power. _Exactly_ how he’d been raised.

He’d made it out of the storm (countless storms, actually), barely rested in the eye, and ran headfirst into the storm _again_. Over and over and over—

He was _strong_ , damn it! He could get through _anything_!

Momentarily pleased by his line of thinking, Killua haughtily lifted his head with a nod, back resting against his seat.

He froze.

…. Did that _really_ make him strong… or just insane? After all, the definition of insanity was—

Killua felt his eye twitch.

_No!_

He sat up quickly, shaking his head.

 _Of course_ , he was strong. He could get through this. He could get through _anything_. Normal people couldn’t go through half— no, a _quarter_ of the shit he’d dealt with in a lifetime!

Finding temporary inner peace, he felt his face relax, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.

But he was _far_ from normal—

Another deep breath.

_And that just made him unique!_

To go through the fiery pits of _hell_ and return with electricity sparking down his fingertips, eyes lit with the fire of being _alive_ , soul persistent, passion ablaze—

 _………_ or did that just make him _the Devil_?

His eyes shot open.

_Was he the actual Devil?_

_He couldn’t be_ , Killua told himself, his fluffy white locks shook as they brushed his forehead.

But maybe he was—

Some might say it was _fate,_ even _destiny_ for him to be—

A demon?

_The Devil?_

Yes.

He was the Devil. Had to be. _Couldn’t_ be—

But he _must’ve_ been to want the things he wanted, to think the thoughts he thought. His hands flew up to grip both sides of his hair—

 ** _Damn it_** he _had_ to be. Or was he—

“Onii-chan?” Alluka’s sweet voice softly pulled him out of his reverie.

He glanced at her concerned expression, eyebrows furrowed and lips in a straight line. Judging from the no longer steaming cup of chocolate and the half-eaten cake in front of him, he’d been at it for more than a while.

His face flushed bright pink, _had she seen all that?_ And the question was answered quickly because _ye_ s, _idiot,_ Alluka had been there the entire time. Like a kid caught in the candy jar, Killua slowly lowered his hands and straightened his back. Alluka merely giggled at his mortification, but he couldn’t find the bite to tease her back.

Choosing to ignore the embarrassment that came from his actions, he took in his surroundings out of habit, briefly glancing around the room.

 _My room_ , they were in, he noted.

From what he could see, they’d been eating on the small table behind the couch. The TV was off, even though he’s sure Alluka would want to watch at least one movie together before she skipped off to her own room for the night. The bed was still made, pillows artfully arranged the way all hotels did. He knew his personal belongings were behind the closet door, next to another door that connected to the adjourned bathroom. Overall, it was a spacious, well-kept, (pricey) room. Everything was nice and neat, just as he liked it.

To be expected ( _obviously,_ he chided himself) considering they’d just checked in.

Looking back at his sister, he noticed Alluka’s own plate was empty except for the few crumbs of whatever sweet treat she’d indulged in- _he already forgot._ She took the last sip of her drink (yet another sugary substance, _chai_ , if he had to guess) before delicately wiping her mouth.

The teasing atmosphere vanished and was suddenly replaced by a much tenser one.

Her hands fiddled with her napkin and her eyes stayed glued to her lap as she struggled to find the right way to approach the situation; to find the right words to say. Placing the napkin on her plate, she folded her hands together and took a deep breath. When she eventually turned to face him, he was taken aback by the determination in her eyes. The second deep breath she took prepared her for whatever she was about to say.

With the familiar creeping of dread already climbing over his shoulder, he knew this conversation was going to be _quite_ unfavorable. He briefly imagined waiting for his infamous mental bus, ticket in hand.

“Onii-chan… You’ve been _very_ … ehm… _distracted,_ lately. Is something... I mean is there anything-” She cut herself off with a rushed sigh, harrumphing whilst trying to gather her bearings. But even days’ worth of mental preparation couldn’t give you all the words you needed to finally ask your very put-together older brother why he’s been so… _un_ put-together.

It was a delicate subject, she knew. One that needed to be treated with the utmost care.

Seemingly over her mental battle, Alluka looked up at him again. Blue eyes still shining with determination, and affection, and concern. Killua found it endearing. She grabbed his hand and held it in both of her own, squeezing lightly.

Offering a small smile, she gently told him, “Onii-chan, you know you can talk to me and Nanika about anything, right?”

A pang of— _something_ hit his heart. Fear? Appreciation? Guilt? Overwhelming brotherly love?

On his darkest days, Alluka and Nanika were always his shining stars. They could pull him out of the moodiest of moods, their presence enough to keep (most) of his demons away. He adored those two.

And the guilt from his weeks-long inner turmoils showed on his face. Clearly, they both had noticed how out-of-it he’d been and had started to feel bad because of it.

 _Of course,_ they would know something was wrong with him. Usually, he kept his emotions hidden, always wanting to be happy and affectionate to his sisters, no matter how he’d truly been feeling under his mask. He never wanted them to worry.

But lately, as he so pitifully demonstrated, his thoughts had dominated all his waking hours. And considering he didn’t sleep much to begin with, he was always frantically mulling something over.

Anxiety and obsessive thoughts could crack even the hardest of shells. However, Killua figured (quite irritably) that he was just growing soft.

Letting your face show what’s going on inside your head? Being so easy to read that any person in a 25-mile radius could see _man, that guy’s going through it_ — _without_ the use of Nen.

Killua was being _stupid_.

Carelessness was _dangerous_. Nerves were _child’s play._

At this point, he wouldn’t believe _himself_ if he were told he used to be a professional.

He was taught to have a mental shield, a block between you and others. Always staying one step ahead, _ten_ steps ahead. But here he was, ten million steps _behind_.

Unbeknownst to him, Killua’s armor had started to crack a long time ago. And one split became another and then another and another until he felt his whole being was nearly split in two, dents in his mind and scratches along his surface.

His armor, along with his mental state, certainly _had_ cracked. Expeditiously. And its effects, (or the realization of its existence) had started to drain him.

 _But Alluka shouldn’t have to see it_.

Alluka shouldn’t be uncomfortable just because he was losing his mind. Alluka shouldn’t have to remind him it was raining because he was so deep in thought he couldn’t feel the beginnings of a storm. Alluka shouldn’t have to speak for him while they were talking to the front desk about getting rooms for tonight. Alluka shouldn’t have to gently pry his fingers off his plate and carry it up to his room for him since his accursed hands were shaking as he wrote, directed, and starred in his own mental theatre.

His sisters _shouldn’t_ have to check in on _him_ , looking at him like _they_ were the adults.

And he? A glass vase. Needing words so gentle and eyes so soft because Alluka feared making another crack in his surface. Or worse; breaking him.

Guilt and shame, two friends Killua had come to know quite well, flooded his system yet again.

His job was to make sure they were always happy, safe, and having fun. And worrying if their older brother had left planet Earth on a rocket ship of insecurities and self-loathing did _not_ sound fun.

Alas, even without the many mishaps from today, Alluka had been looking at him with concern for weeks now. Hiding and smiling and pretending had been virtually nothing against his sister’s well-trained gaze. Had been virtually _nothing_ next to his zoned out, blank-faced, and unresponsive moments (which were far better than his overly expressive, foolish, and dramatic moments, in his opinion). As far and few as they’d been at first, Alluka was nothing if not perceptive. She was a Zoldyck, after all.

And no matter how many times he tried to reassure her he was _fine_ ; she’d known he was _not._

Now, Killua knew what she and Nanika had been mumbling about when they thought he wasn’t paying attention. Granted, those moments where he noticed their hushed conversations were few and far between considering his own self-monologues, but he noticed, nonetheless.

Alluka had noticed his behavior eons ago and had been asking Nanika for advice on what to do about it. After debating amongst themselves for the last few weeks, they must’ve come to a decision.

And _yes_ , after watching her brother slowly deteriorate, Alluka finally decided enough was enough, and it was time to intervene.

Killua admitted to himself that that was fair. Because today had been the absolute worst he’s ever been. He’d known that.

Still, he couldn’t stop his racing thoughts. Apart of him hoped Alluka would keep pretending she hadn’t noticed the severity of it, if only to spare him from this conversation for even one more day—

But no, it was unavoidable. His actions were undeniable. And so, this conversation was inescapable.

He’d be a fool to think otherwise.

Catching his defeated expression, Alluka’s eyes widened as she immediately held her hands up.

“It’s okay, Onii-chan! You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to, or if you don’t feel comfortable yet. I’m not upset or anything I just…” Her eyes fell as she fiddled with her thumbs in her lap again. “I just want you to know that I’m always here for you, Onii-chan. Nanika, too! We know you feel like you have to protect us and take care of us, and we appreciate that, but we want you to know that-”

She locked eyes with him again. Certain, bright, and smiling, “That we want to take care of Onii-chan, too! In any way we can. So, anything that’s making you upset, we’ll do our best to help you with!”

And just like magic, the cloudiness of his thoughts and the general shitty-ness of the day faded away to the background, if only for a second. Replaced by the overwhelming feeling of love and appreciation for his sisters. Genie wishes aside, his sisters were magical. In a way that was totally and completely unique to them and them only.

Pretending he was okay, no matter how good he was at it (usually), never made him feel any better. And although he still couldn’t tell Alluka the truth about what was truly bothering him, it warmed him to be reminded that even if she _didn’t_ know the truth, that she and Nanika would always be there for him. They were amazing little sisters. Really, he didn’t deserve them.

Alluka might think Killua saved her, and in a way, he did, but… it’s Alluka that’s always saving him. Every day.

He wondered if she’d still feel the same about him, her, and Nanika if they knew about the thoughts that plagued his mind. The truth about the filthy things his brain haunted him with. Dominating his dreams at night and clouding his mind with delusional fantasies while he was awake.

 _No_ , Alluka would still love him. She’d understand, if only slightly. All those romance novels she reads would surely have given her ideas on how to handle his situation, albeit through rose-colored glasses. Nanika would still love him, and ask for pats, and want him to make wishes.

They’d still try to be there for him. And in another world, maybe it could help him make sense of the mess that was running amuck in his head. Maybe.

But for now, he ought to cheer her up and make her laugh. Like a good older brother should. He doesn’t know what he’d do without those two.

He grinned, for the first time that day. A genuine, small smile that reflected his relief, the heaviness leaving his heart.

“Ah… sis, I’m sorry about today. I know I’ve been really out of it, huh?” He looked away as he put his hand behind his head, rubbing his neck sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I’m alright, really. I know I’ve been acting strange the last couple of weeks but it’s nothing too serious. Just some personal stuff I’m trying to figure out.”

At this, Alluka pouted. He heard her indignation before she even opened her mouth.

Raising his hands in front of him he quickly continued “ _But,_ I’ll tell you all about it as soon as I’ve got it all figured out.”

Seeing her face stuck in the same expression, he only laughed and reached over to ruffle her hair.

“Trust me, _I promise_ it’s not a big deal. I’ll tell you everything you want to know some other time.” Changing the subject, he pointed to her empty plate. “And look! You see your big brother deep in thought, so you decide to eat without him? I never knew you could be so greedy.”

To his relief, Alluka spared him and took the bait.

Gasping at his accusatory tone, she explained “I _tried_ to snap you out of it Onii-chan! I even asked Nanika what I should do, and we both agreed we shouldn’t let our drink get cold.”

She giggled before pointing at his own stone-cold cup, “And look what would’ve happened if we did! Chai is best when it’s steaming hot, and now your hot chocolate is just….” The passion left her voice; eyes locked onto his forgotten mug with disdain, “…. _cold_ chocolate.”

Killua followed her eyes to his own forgotten drink. She was very right, his once-steaming hot cup of delicious cocoa was now something more akin to chocolate milk.

Killua smirked as he shrugged, “Doesn’t matter to me, chocolate is chocolate.”

“ _Yuck_. Onii-chan, I worry about you.” Alluka mumbled, shaking her head.

Killua only smiled at her, before getting off his chair and pulling her towards him for a hug. Alluka made a noise of surprise before quickly wrapping her arms around him.

“Thank you, Alluka and Nanika. I want you to know that I appreciate how much you guys care. I won’t make you worry like that again, okay?”

“Big brother… just like you’ll always worry about us, we’ll always worry about you. We’re family.” Pulling away, she looked him directly in the eyes. “I always want you to be happy, big brother.”

His heart melted. “You and Nanika make me the happiest big brother on the planet.”

Alluka beamed, before jumping on him to press a kiss to his cheek. She knew her brother’s problems were far from fixed, and there was a lot he wasn’t telling her.

But for now, he was better. And he said he would tell her about it later (whenever that may be) and later was better than never.

_For now._

When they broke apart, he wasn’t surprised to be greeted by blinking black eyes, and a wide, endless smile.

“ **Nanika loves Killua** ”.

He beamed back at her, “and Killua loves Nanika”.

She giggled, “ **Aye**.”

They decided on a cheesy romance film (not surprising) that for all its faults, numbed his brain so Killua was thankful for that if nothing else.

Alluka, though, was glued to the television with starry eyes. So invested in the story Killua was sure she’d forgotten he was even there.

He barely _had_ been there, mentally anyway. He couldn’t tell you the names of the main characters or the plot of the film. He _could_ tell you that there was this fat old guy in a couple of scenes that were clearly only put in the story for comedic relief, and every time he was shown Killua imagined Milluki in his place. It never failed to make him laugh (much to Alluka’s chagrin).

Killua hadn’t cared for the film until the dramatic ending started playing out, and it got too loud to ignore.

From what he understood, some rich girl’s parents said no to a poor boy the girl fell in love with, girl and boy can’t get married without parent’s approval, and… she’s engaged now? To some other dude her parents are forcing her to marry. _Oh._

And now he watches as the miserable couple say their final goodbyes, parting ways and never looking back. Headed into their own destinies, their own futures away from each other, _separated_ —

He chooses to ignore the pang that hits his heart. He ignores it even more as it makes its way through his whole body and ignores it the most when it reaches his head; when it settles in his brain and almost shows on his face.

Next to him, Alluka had silent tears falling from her watery blue eyes. “It’s just not fair Onii-chan! They _belong_ together. It’s not fair.” She shook her head, squeezing the pillow in her arms extra tight. “It’s just not fair.”

Like the good older brother he was, he got up and got her a tissue, offering it before sitting down and squeezing her side in an act of comfort. Was the comfort completely for her or partially for himself, he’d never know.

What he did know was that Alluka was right, for the umpteenth time that day. And not for the first time, he found himself agreeing with her.

It wasn’t fair at all.

* * *

Hours later, Killua once again found himself lost in thought, staring into the darkness of the room. The blinds shut so tightly that not a sliver of moonlight could shine through and distract him with the way it made shapes and shadows out of nothing. He was completely, wholly, and utterly alone.

He laid on top of the covers, still fully dressed. His head on top of the pillows, unmoving. The ceiling; pitch black and unseen, becoming his favorite thing to stare at.

Anything was better than looking at his phone. Anything was better than reminding himself he even _had_ a phone.

He didn’t want to see it, or feel it, or remind himself it was there buried underneath his pillows. Seeing was believing, after all, and the longer Killua refused to acknowledge, the longer he could pretend it didn't exist. It all seemed so simple.

Except that it wasn’t, because nothing ever is, and it was taking every last ounce of his self-control not to grab the damn thing and open his messages. His stupid, accursed messages.

Not many people texted him, obviously. Not many people had his always-changing numbers. And even fewer had his whereabouts.

Keeping his sister safe required constant degrees of mindfulness and secrecy. Running from one of the most dangerous and well-connected families in the world, that happened to be your own, was no easy feat even after all this time. Killua could never afford to be careless.

And yet, here he was. Strung over and immobilized by a few attachments on a dingy burner phone.

So _pathetic_ and so engrossed by a few well-organized pixels on a tiny screen that it was enough to leave him like _this._ Reminiscing and wanting and achy and kind of horny and annoyed and disgusted and almost _helpless—_

He rolled over to his side, quickly grabbing a pillow and smashing it on top of his head in a half-assed attempt at smothering himself.

All it did was remind him of the cold, small piece of metal that was right next to his face. Its screen lighting up from his movements.

What did he do to deserve this? Putting the assassination business to the side, what did he do to deserve such cruelty? He supposed the answer lied within itself.

The universe _wouldn’t_ put the assassination stuff to the side. And that’s why he would always live with feeling like this. Feeling like shit the rest of your life was proper payment for taking another’s, right?

He’d helped to _save_ the world too, y’know, but he guessed that didn’t count for shit.

He shifted, the cool metal following the dip his head made into the bed. The weight of it was annoying as it was tempting.

He hated himself for it.

The device was in his hand and lighting up his surroundings before he even realized he was typing in his passcode.

He was met by the basic home screen on the phone, quickly swiping through in favor of finding the app that made his heart stop beating.

When he clicked on it, the object of his affections was already pulled up front and center.

_Gon._

Gon’s messages. From Gon’s phone number. On Killua’s phone.

Looking at the screen before him could only be compared to the rush a junkie gets from their fix. Or Milluki when he eats every food known to man.

The endorphin rush Killua got was expected, hell, even welcomed.

He was terrible. Terrible, terrible, terrible.

But what Gon didn’t know, wouldn’t kill him. In fact, it seemed the only thing that _could_ kill Gon was _Gon himself_.

… But Killua knew not to go down that road, it never got him anywhere.

Quickly scrolling up, up, _up_ through their messages, he searched for the image that made his head fog, his blood boil, and his knees weak.

Past Gon’s enthusiastic and mistake-riddled paragraphs and Killua’s one-word to one-sentence responses. Up, up, up, because the longer he looked the more tempted he was to re-read. And the longer he re-read the sadder he became. He wouldn’t do it, he refused to do it. Killua knew it would never get him anywhere.

Finally, he found it. The last attachment Gon had sent him. _How many weeks had it been?_ Killua didn’t know.

What he _did_ know, was that day he received it was the day all this _nonsense_ in his head got _worse_. And things he’d been ignoring for _years_ could no longer be ignored. And he was shoved face-first into the realization that he was an _idiot,_ first and foremost.

A lovesick, desperate, hopeless, perverted, _idiot._

And the thing that threw him for a loop, flipped his world upside down, made him regret buying another phone and contacting Gon again in the first place—

—was a simple picture Gon took of himself.

Killua’s eyes greedily took in the details like it was the first time.

It really was a simple photo.

Gon was by himself. But you could tell somebody took the picture for him. Killua didn’t know who, and Gon never mentioned. Such a small detail that Killua thought about for way longer than he should have. Killua knew Gon wasn’t at Whale Island. He’d long ago informed him he was traveling with Kite and Knuckle and Shoot and others that Killua couldn’t place faces to the names. Killua didn’t know where Gon was at the time of the picture, or now, but he didn’t really need to.

In the photo, Gon was at the beach. You could see the sand covering his feet, the waves in the background, and the sun shining high in the sky; Gon’s eyes shining just as brightly. His normally gravity-defying hair was dripping wet and drooping towards the ground. Killua remembered he always thought it looked nice like that when they were younger, but back then he’d rather die than let Gon know. There’s a lot of things he’d never let Gon know.

And Gon was smiling, wide and happily. Most likely, he’d been laughing while the picture was taken, Killua could almost hear it. Loud and clear and tinkling like bells.

He’d watch Gon’s growth spurts through pictures he’d sent him over time, and whilst Killua could tell he was still taller (much to his personal satisfaction), Gon had gotten pretty tall.

He was tall, and broad, and smiling and happy and Killua was happy for him. He _was_ happy for him.

Killua thought that overall, it was a nice, decent picture that anyone would send to their distant relatives or friends. Leorio, Kurapika, Bisky, and Aunt Mito all probably got the same one he did.

But he knew they certainly didn’t have the _reaction_ that he did.

Because there was one more detail about the picture, as small and insignificant as it was, that Killua just couldn’t ignore.

Gon was shirtless.

Shirtless and smiling and broad and _attractive_ and Killua hated himself for keeping this stupid picture on his stupid device.

He hated the way he noticed how filled out Gon had truly grown over their time apart. Obviously, Killua was nothing to turn your head at, but Gon—

Gon was eye-catching.

All tanned skin and broad shoulders that turned into muscled biceps and strong arms. His chest, his abs, the tight, well-defined V-line that always grabbed Killua's attention, and Gon's stupid, big smile, all of it—

Was the reason Killua realized he couldn’t ignore how he feels, or his body’s reaction to those feelings. Was the reason he was driving himself _insane_ for _weeks_. His thoughts either stuck on Gon, and Gon’s voice and Gon’s messages or how _awful_ Killua is for lusting over his best friend, half convincing himself to _hurry up_ and _get over it_ and half resigning himself to his miserable, yet well-deserved fate.

 _Of course_ , he fell in love with Gon. And _of course,_ he would realize it _now_. _At the most inopportune time._ What an _idiotic_ thing to do.

Not that it would matter, really, _when_ he realized how he felt. The outcome would've been just as unfortunate.

Like it always did when he looked at the god-forsaken photo, he felt his body heat up and his lower half twitch to life.

_How long had it been since he…?_

No.

He didn’t know and he didn’t care. That was one boundary he’d yet to break. No matter how hot the picture made him, _Gon_ made him—

Jerking off to the thought of his best friend was where he drew the (so impossibly thin) line.

Killua had never done it before, and he didn’t want to start now. He’d held back, _forced_ himself to walk around, take a cold shower, _electrocute himself_ just to force the feelings, the thoughts, the _desires_ away, if only momentarily just to get himself under control.

But tonight, tonight was… different. He felt hotter than usual, more restless than usual. He felt… _needy._

All of that just wouldn’t work. Nothing _really_ worked, anyways. Only momentarily delayed the inevitable. Nothing made him stop thinking about it or wanting it or craving it. Nothing stopped him from feeling so _desperate_.

In ways he didn’t know he was _capable_ of feeling.

Killua didn’t know what did it. The movie that was still fresh on his mind and mingling with his stupid emotions or the fact that he hadn’t gotten himself off in who-knows-how-long in a desperate attempt to stop himself from masturbating to the thought of his best friend, like some sick weirdo, and now he’s finally reached his limit.

Or maybe after denying himself the pleasure of talking to Gon on the phone or through text, seeing him or hearing him, and the only thing he has besides memories is this silly little beach picture that he was denying himself because he’s a monster with no control, but ultimately, he still couldn’t stay away forever.

Maybe the photo just looked extra good tonight, after trying to ignore it (and Gon) for so long, looking at it tonight was like seeing it for the first time.

Killua was tired. Tired of thinking, of ignoring, and of longing. But he knew there wasn’t much he could do about that.

But tonight, if only for tonight, he’d like a good night’s sleep. One he hadn’t gotten in a long, long time.

And if getting himself off helps with that, then it would just be another thing Gon would never know about, and Killua hoped he wouldn’t hate him for it as much as Killua hated himself for it.

Logic justified and a decision made, Killua quickly sat up on the bed, turning off his phone and throwing it on the bed somewhere. The least he could do is not directly look at Gon’s innocent, smiling face.

He quickly rid himself of his pants, leaving him in just his underwear. He wanted to get this over with quickly, he just needed to get himself off so he could… sleep? Focus? Get rid of the urge? A mixture of all three?

Regardless, he wanted it over and done with. All business, no pleasure.

But as soon as his hand slid down his stomach and touched his length all of that went out the window.

It had been too long, way too long since he’d last touched himself. He was sensitive.

**Fuck.**

That’s the only word that could go through his head as his light touches grew bolder.

 _Fuck_ —

The fire inside him roared to life with every movement.

_It burned._

It burned more than hell and the Devil, than his anger and his frustration, than his moping and his misery.

This heat wasn’t the same as blood pooling around a wound or eyes holding back unshed tears. It was _very unlike_ the fire from a challenge of a target who _just wouldn’t die._ Those things he was used to, those flames were familiar.

No. It wasn’t that kind of heat at all.

 _This_ heat—this **_burning_** was…. unusual _._

It should hardly be considered _unusual_ to him anymore. It was quickly becoming a part of his new norm, but he’d never felt it to this magnitude.

Sweltering, smoldering, incapacitating, _burning-_

He gasped at his touches, throwing his head back as he felt himself grow in his hand. _This_ was _true_ desire. And it was nearly impossible to ignore when it got like this. Paralyzing him far worse than any needle, giving his brain a one-track mind.

It spread throughout his belly and raced up his spine. It met the heat running up his chest, parallels smooching his neck before enveloping his decolletage and ears in a red flush. His face wasted no time in matching his body, the once-pale skin blossoming into numerous pretty pink shades. Cheeks flushed and mouth parted, hands twitching, eyes half-lidded, blue eyes dulled.

His breath only came out in harsh pants, matching his racing heart and heaving lungs. And the steady throbbing of his lower half. It was almost like an out-of-body experience, to be out of breath whilst sitting down.

_Fuck._

_Fuck._

**_Fuck._ **

This was poison. And he certainly wasn’t immune to it.

This feeling, these _thoughts_ , the way his body reacted and just wouldn’t stop. It had to be a self-made poison. Was this a new form of torture? _Self-torture_? No matter what he did, where touched it still wasn't _enough_.

Perhaps his body had already evolved beyond what he thought possible and added suicide to his necessary set of adaptations.

He supposed he should be thankful _. Fuck_ , he hoped he passed quickly.

When he was young, he wondered why his family had warned him so heavily about the dangers of sexual desire. And smugly showed him how _weak_ it made people; how _easy_ it was to kill when the target was blinded by lust. Why his mother angrily scolded Milluki for years about his near-naked “action figure” collection, the inappropriate shit she would find on his computers, and the stains the butlers informed her of in his laundry.

When he was young, he didn’t get it. Didn’t care to, really. All he knew was a distracted target equaled an easy job. He didn’t get why people lost themselves to an emotion, a passing feeling.

But lust was incredibly powerful, he discovered. Powerful and so underestimated. So easy to get lost in when you’re aching for relief.

To his greatest displeasure, there was nothing “simple” about it.

 _Especially_ when _love_ was involved.

He still remembered Illumi’s lectures. _“It’s the peskiest and most useless emotion, Killu”_ , His older brother warned. His disdain for the subject hardening his normally emotionless words.

_“Romance and sex are connected, little brother. Romantic love is completely different than the love between family, completely different than how Father and I love you, Killu. That kind of love is selfish and self-destructive. Partners betray you, lie to you, use you. Family is the only true thing you have in this world, Kil. The only ones you can trust. Remember that.”_

Besides the isolation, the whipping, and the killing, Illumi’s sex-ed was one of the _worst_ parts of Killua’s adolescence.

Puberty affects everyone differently, but Killua had been trained in how to manage and mask noises, emotions, facial expressions, and every other unsavory bodily reaction. Lust wasn’t something that bothered him frequently growing up, and when it did, he either willed it away or ignored it. Except for the few rare occasions, where he could relieve himself the way other young males his age did. Like his brief fascination with porn (He wanted to be well-versed in all things, in his defense). But even then, the act of relieving himself was never drawn out or explored, only a means to an end to get rid of the uncomfortable tightening in his pants.

At the time, it didn’t matter.

Which came back to bite him, as the universe always did, because now it very much did matter.

_He couldn’t get himself to shut up._

Every breath carried a low moan, long and wanting. He lifted his free hand to his mouth, trying to muffle his noises, still panting and stroking his length. A low whine escaped him as he picked up the pace of his thrusts to match his strokes.

Only one thought dominated his mind.

He wanted Gon _bad_.

 _So bad._ So, _so_ bad.

He wanted him here, now. He wanted him to be close and he wanted him to be beside him and he wanted him to be underneath him and-

**_Fuck-_ **

He wanted to kiss him and explore his mouth. He wanted his tongue down Gon’s throat. He wanted the taste of his saliva on his tongue; to feel it on his lips, on his face, running down their necks and pooling on his sheets. He wanted to feel him gasp for air when they broke apart, panting and wanton as Killua sucked on his neck. Turning his pretty tan skin into bruising blues and purples and reds. Licking his way back up to Gon’s mouth just to repeat the process all over again.

He wanted Gon’s face to be red from desire, from _need_. His skin was sweaty and glistening and hot _._ He wanted to see his eyes darkened by lust, clouded and focused only on Killua. One hand tangled in his silver hair and another under his shirt, nails scratching over smooth skin. He wanted to hear Gon moan from his ministrations; loud and shameless, in the way only Gon could. He wanted to hear him plead for more, to undress him, to touch him.

Killua wanted Gon to be filthy before he fucked him.

He felt his dick twitch at the imagery. So detailed and graphic he could almost pretend it wasn’t just a fantasy in his mind. _Almost._

But _fuck_ , it was enough to get him here. Enough to distract him for days, invade his thoughts and nag him, relentless and persistent. To get him stuck in between being extremely horny and extremely guilty. To get him vulnerable and desperate and moaning like this.

This was his _best friend_ , for fuck’s sake!—

And he wanted him. He wanted Gon in every way imaginable. There was no denying it now. He wanted Gon in every way he could have him. All his, forever.

Damn, he felt like he was in heat.

His hand just wasn’t cutting it anymore. It was good, so good, _too good,_ but it wasn’t _enough_. Too familiar and not able to match up physically to the pleasure he was picturing mentally.

The idea came to him quickly and he put it into motion just as quick. Flipping over to his stomach, he grabbed the pillow that once hid his phone and positioned it under his hips. He’d seen this in porn once. He briefly wondered if it would feel as good to him as the guy in the video made it seem.

Immediately, his question was answered.

It was _almost_ like he was fucking him. Of course, the firm material of the pillow would be nothing like the smooth tan skin of Gon’s ass. But it was a different feeling than his hand and therefore, good enough.

Killua buried his head in the other pillows in front of him, his moans increasing in volume.

“Fuck, Gon—” he whispered his name like a prayer into the fabric, the steady pace of his thrusts turning violent in his need.

He thought about Gon’s voice, the last time they talked on the phone. The smooth, deeper voice that was still so undoubtedly _Gon._

Killua wondered how he would sound beneath him, breathless and wanton. How loud could Killua make him scream, how much would he beg for more.

Gon had always been the vocal type, saying whatever was on his mind and never being afraid to voice his opinions. Killua was sure he’d be the same in bed. And the thought excited him, warmed him from the inside out.

Killua wanted to hear his name, and only his name, spill from Gon’s lips over and over while he pleasured him.

Would he clutch the sheets and throw his head back if Killua sucked him off? If he swallowed it all?

Would Gon choke and gag if Killua wanted to fuck his throat? Or would Gon tell him he could handle it, and beg for a taste?

Killua wanted to know if Gon would squeal when he played with Gon’s nipples or kissed down his stomach. He wanted to know if Gon has ever played with himself and if he’d spread his legs and plead for Killua to finger him.

Or would he tell Killua to hurry up, that he could handle another finger, two fingers, that he could take it _all._

Killua felt himself purr at the thought. He knew Gon would be such a _good boy_ for him. And in return, he’d make him feel _so good._

Even with the pillow, Killua’s moans were steadily growing in volume as he grew closer to reaching his end. He couldn’t help himself. Sweat dripped down his skin as his hips worked, his hand traveling down again as he started stroking himself in time with his thrusts, the added pleasure making him throw his head back.

Gon’s name was the only word Killua knew, the only word that spilled from his lips. He was thankful he decided on such a nice hotel, with the force of his thrusts, any cheap bed would have given him away.

Feeling his end draw closer and closer, he imagined himself finally fucking Gon. How tight and wet and _hot_ Gon would be. How loudly he’d beg, cry, _plead_ for _more_ when Killua hit that spot deep inside, over and over.

And Killua would be all-too-happy to deliver.

Killua wanted Gon on his knees, back arched and ass in the air. Fucking him deep while toyed with his nipples and sucked on his neck. Killua would praise him, letting him know how good he feels, how perfect he is.

Then he imagined turning Gon around, laughing at his cute little pout before sliding back in and watching Gon’s face change back into one of pleasure. He’d wrap his legs around Killua, locking him in place, his nails scratching thin red lines down Killua’s back.

He’d make Gon cum, _hard_. He wanted to watch him come only from Killua fucking him, only from Killua’s mouth, and his hands and his dick. Only Killua.

And when Gon comes down from his high, he’d look at Killua sleepily and sated, kissing up and down Killua’s neck and telling him how much he loves him, how good he feels inside.

Killua would look him in the eye and tell him how he’s always loved him, still loves him, and he knows Gon is the only one for him.

The image makes Killua lose control.

He has half a mind to flip over so he doesn’t make a mess on his sheets, and he pumps himself quickly, steadily, to the rhythm he’s built up.

His orgasm hits him like a freight train. It spreads throughout his body and makes every nerve sing in euphoria, stars exploding behind his eyes and for a moment he feels like he’s in another dimension.

His head thrown back to the ceiling, and his body shell-shocked, completely still. Killua can do nothing but keep stroking, so he can prolong the pleasure as much as he can.

He milks himself for all he’s worth, attempting to catch a majority of it in his other hand, the rest covering his stomach and his chest.

Killua doesn’t give himself time to bask in the afterglow of his release, immediately running into his bathroom to take a much-needed shower.

* * *

He finds himself in the exact same predicament he was in earlier, only significantly less horny and a lot cleaner. His head was clearer, body relaxed and sinking into the sheets from a mind-blowing orgasm _and_ a hot shower.

But his thoughts were still racing. And now that the desire was gone, all that was left was guilt and shame, but he was accustomed to their unwelcome visits.

However, now they were joined by a new friend. Not _new_ , exactly, just no longer ignored.

_Sadness._

He was _sad._

Killua really just found it annoying. Illumi said the most inconvenient emotion was love, but in Killua’s opinion, it had to be sadness.

Love can fade. It can be ignored, and dwindle, and in some cases burn out, like it never happened.

But sadness, sadness _enjoys_ being ignored. It _likes_ when you think you’ve forgotten about it, you can go on about your day, your year, your _life_ like nothing ever happened, like you’re okay.

And then on the quiet days or the darker nights, when the room is filled with silence or even when it's too loud, it hits you like a boulder falling on your head.

And everything you tried to move past, or forget, or _fight_ is right there in front of you again. Picture perfect and clear as crystals, like it never left.

It hurt, it stung, and in another world, it might’ve even made him cry.

But he was Killua. He was a Zoldyck. And he was raised to kill or be killed, to fight or take flight, to have mind over matter.

Tomorrow would go on as scheduled. Alluka and Killua would leave and stay on the move and watch their backs because no matter how much time passed, Killua could never be careless until he was _completely sure_ they were safe.

He’d continue ignoring Gon until the next time he gets a new phone and updates all his contacts.

Life would go on.

And sometimes he’s gonna feel guilty, or ashamed, or absolutely fucking miserable because he misses somebody he can’t have.

But Killua didn’t see it that way. He really just found it annoying.

As he closed his eyes, he knew exactly what to expect. The driver looking him over, unhurried and uninterested, before taking his ticket and closing the door behind him.

Drifting off to sleep, he dragged himself to his favorite seat, the only place he truly belonged. He welcomed the struggle; the beginnings of the inevitable, the eternal burn as they descended into hell, his own mental hell.

As always, he knew Gon would haunt his night dreams just as he did his daydreams.

He’d be a fool to think otherwise.

**Author's Note:**

> whew, i am beat.  
> if you made it this far, thank you, and i hope it wasn't a complete waste of your time.
> 
> i have no idea when or if i'll ever write another killugon fic, or any fic in general. (college sux)  
> but i do want to take a second and thank all of you in the fandom who write, draw, make edits, etc., or just support everyone else.  
> i appreciate all of you for keeping our fandom alive <3
> 
> p.s. in case i don't end up writing again, i just want to make it clear that top!killua IS superior lol
> 
> and that's all folks!


End file.
